I'm posting this from work, while I wait for specialist cleaners to get done with our chimney stacks. I have completed everything I both need to do and have the slightest desire to do, so I thought it was a great oppertunity for a post. Hell, I've already missed last call.
Here's a poem that basically comes out of my self reflection that I posted about in the last update. Hope you like.
Everyday a little more,
Desires rise to change the score.
But words die cold on the tongue,
A shameful silence since begun.
No volume breaks from my lips,
With burning intention at finger tips.
A proclamtion for all to hear,
Failed statement made to dissappear.
If only pen could be what voice cannot.
To hearken loud what heart's begot.
Lead or type, ink or brush,
Scripted words so full and lush.
A parchment judges not what's meant,
Nor suspicion raise at what verse intent.
It cannot hurt with words or tone,
It's contents you dictate alone.
To give those words life with voice,
To expose your own deep rejoice,
Can be such a thing of fear and dread,
For what if the answer is best left unsaid?
It's easy so to write these thought,
Harder now when eye to eye are brought.
Courage dim and self esteem defeat,
When face to face again we meet.
But change must happen, either ill or good.
To conquer my fears like a man should.
For to stay the same within in my heart,
Will tear the walls of this soul apart.
End of Line.